In Pieces
by GoAwayImReading
Summary: John gets fed up with Sherlock's experiments. Angst ensues. One-shot. I'm really bad at summaries.


John waited impatiently with his phone pressed against his ear. One of Sherlock's bloody experiments had ruined the kitchen counter top! John normally just let it go but his anger at Sherlock's experiments had been slowly building for so long and now he was finally fed up. Fed up with the body parts in the fridge and the all the chemicals and mold and whatever else Sherlock used in his bloody experiments.

The phone wrung once... twice... "Hello John! Is everything okay? I'll be at the lab until four. I'm working on a very exciting new-"

"I don't care what you're working on Sherlock!" John interrupted. "All I care about is that I just knocked over a coffee mug whose contents melted a hole in the counter top! It melted a fucking hole in the counter top!" The line went silent for a moment and then Sherlock spoke. "Well you've been able to live with me and my experiments for a long time. Why suddenly change your mind about them?" John was fuming. "I'm sick and tired of this Sherlock! Either your experiments leave or I do!"

John heard Sherlock take a shaky breath. "John are you breaking up with me?" John heard the fear in Sherlock's voice but he was too pissed off to care. "I'm going to stay somewhere else for tonight. When I come back every trace of your experiments better be _gone_!" John practically shouted the last word.

"John. Do you still love me?" As Sherlock spoke John could practically feel the cloud of fear and uncertainty that no doubt surrounded Sherlock at that moment. Well of course he still loved Sherlock. He loved Sherlock so much it was impossible to even explain in words his feelings. Sherlock was his other half and he didn't know if he could live without him. But of course John said none of this. He simply said "Goodbye Sherlock," and hung up.

* * *

As John drove to a nearby hotel with a small overnight bag he thought about Sherlock. God he loved Sherlock. They'd been together so long it was hard to imagine life without him. Of course Sherlock pissed him off sometimes but John had no idea what he'd do without his Sherlock and all the little quirks that come with him. He felt like shit for getting so angry. He really did. He shouldn't have done that to Sherlock and he had a strong urge to call him back and apologize but he had made the decision to leave for the night and he was going to stick to it. He even turned off his phone so he wouldn't be tempted.

* * *

At that same moment Sherlock sped across town. All he could think about was John. He needed to get back home before John left. He needed to get John to stay. He needed to see if John still loved him because he didn't know what he'd do if John didn't love him. There was no Sherlock Holmes without John Watson. He needed John like he needed air. Sherlock was so preoccupied with thoughts of John that he passed a red light. He heard a loud noise of metal crushing metal an his entire world went black.

* * *

John sat in his hotel room staring at the television screen for at least 2 hours. He hadn't even turned it on. He just stared at the black screen. The guilt was pretty much devouring him. Finally he decided that he had to call Sherlock. Just to apologize. It just didn't feel right to leave things the way he did. He turned the phone on. As he was about to place a call to Sherlock's cell his phone started wringing. He answered the call and held it up to his ear. "Hello?" John heard a deep breath on the other line. "Hey John. It's Greg. Listen something has happened with Sherlock." John's heart nearly stopped. That tone of voice. He's heard it before. He's _used_ it before. It's the tone of someone about to break really bad news.

"Sherlock ran a red light. An oncoming car smashed straight into the drivers side of the vehicle. Sherlock didn't make it. I'm so sorry John." The phone fell out of John's hand. He couldn't breath. He couldn't think. He didn't know what to do. He had a feeling that Sherlock wasn't faking it this time. He had sensed something was off but he thought it was just guilt. Now he knew what it was. Sherlock was gone. He felt fear and pain and anger and guilt. He felt abandoned and completely and utterly alone. Then he just felt numb.

John picked the phone back up and put it to his ear. "I should go Greg. I'll talk to you later." He hung up before Greg could respond and then crawled into the hotel bed. He curled up in a ball and felt completely alone in this huge world. He felt completely alone because Sherlock was gone and he was the only one who could make the hurt go away. When John was with Sherlock he felt like he was where he belonged in the world and he would never feel that again. He had left Sherlock doubting the love John had for him and Sherlock was dead and there was no way for John to tell him how much he meant to him. And John wished that he had told Sherlock every day how amazing and important he was and how much he loved him because he would never get the chance again. And no tears came. He just felt broken.

* * *

John was dreaming. Now you'd imagine he'd be having nightmares but he was not. It was even worse. Sweet dreams. He dreamed of cuddling on the couch with Sherlock as they watched movies and Sherlock corrected all of the errors. John dreamed of running around London, holding Sherlock's hand as they went on wild adventures. He dreamed of the first time Sherlock said that he loved him. He dreamed about their first time with all the raw passion and Sherlock whimpering and moaning out his name. He dreamed of the time after the passion as they laid in bed curled up together and he could live in that perfect moment of blissful silence and a love so deep that as they laid together they almost melted into each other. At that moment they didn't need to put their love into words because they both knew it would be an impossible task. At that moment they were so close that they could tell what the other was feeling and thinking and oh how John longed to get back to that place where he could feel at home in Sherlock's arms.

* * *

There was a split second after John woke up that he forgot all that happened. Then it all came crashing back. Still he didn't cry. He was just a shell of a person. He spent the next few weeks like that. Not crying. Not feeling anything. He just felt dead. Even at Sherlock's funeral he didn't cry. He watched as they lowered the love of his life into the ground and then he went back to 221B.

He hadn't been back to Baker Street since he had vacated it on the night of Sherlock's accident. He had just stayed in a hotel; Hardly ever coming out. He walked slowly towards the stairs to go up to his room then stopped right in front of them. He turned his head to Sherlock's door and without really thinking he made his way in there and slipped into Sherlock's bed. He wrapped himself in the comforter and took a deep breath. All he could smell was Sherlock. Finally he started to cry. He cried and cried and cried for what seemed like hours. After a while it stilled.

If John concentrated hard enough it almost felt like Sherlock was there with him. Hugging him and telling him it would be alright. And this brought a new flood of tears because he knew that he would never again hear Sherlock say his name and he would never again feel Sherlock's hand in his and he would never again hear Sherlock's laugh or see Sherlock's smile. He would never again feel at home because Sherlock was his home.

John was surrounded by Sherlock and he felt for the first time since Sherlock left him. Felt pain and sadness and guilt. Felt hunger and loss. He was broken and he lay trying to fill the cracks with what was left of Sherlock. He hoped that one day he might see Sherlock again. But for now he slept.


End file.
